FALSE PRETENSES

by Catherine Coulter

  “As strange as it sounds, yes it did.”

  Outside in Millicent Stacy’s office, Elizabeth saw Adrian gather up the envelopes that contained the exorbitant fees each board member received each month, after every meeting.

  She wondered if they would do anything at all if she were in truth destroying ACI. Probably not. They rubber-stamped everything. Of course, with all the Carleton leaks, they weren’t told everything. She found herself thinking of Laurette Carleton, and wondering at a hatred so profound that she would try to undermine all her son had built to get back at her, Elizabeth. “And you’ve got the wrong person, Laurette,” she said quietly.

  Elizabeth’s eyes fell upon the society page in the paper on Millicent’s desk. She stared down at a photo of Rowe and his fiancée, Amanda Montgomery.

  She frowned just a bit. But there was no pain now, no anger at his betrayal. In fact, she realized, she no longer wished him ill. Despite all his lies, his web of deception, he’d taught her so much. “Good luck, Rowe,” she whispered, then straightened her shoulders and marched out of Millicent’s office, Adrian behind her.

  She wondered briefly if Rowe was pleased with this marriage. She rather hoped, in her less beneficient moods, that Amanda was a bitch.

  Rowe Chalmers realized he liked work. “And that,” he said to himself and to his office, “is a good thing, because the rest of my life isn’t going to hold much more.”

  Well, perhaps children, but he wasn’t certain about that. Amanda had, to this point, successfully skirted the subject.

  “You’re a lucky bastard,” he continued to himself. “She’s good in bed and she’s loaded. I won’t get any more gray hairs trying to save this sinking ship.”

  There was a knock on his door before it opened to admit his secretary, Doris Cummings. She was young, pretty, and efficient enough. She was also discreet. And kind.

  “What is it, Doris?”

  “There’s a lady here to see you, Mr. Chalmers.”

  Rowe groaned inwardly. Amanda loved to pay surprise visits. Did she think he was off playing polo or something? Off having illicit sex in the afternoon with one of her friends?

  “It’s a Miss Catherine Carleton.”

  He stared at her, his jaw dropping.

  “Hello, Rowe,” Catherine said from behind Doris.

  He rose slowly to his feet. “Miss Carleton.” He nodded to Doris and she left the office, closing the door behind her.

  He strode across his office, stopping six inches from Catherine.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “Forgive me for disturbing you,” she said, holding her ground. “I came on in because I was afraid you’d refuse to see me.”

  “You’re damned right I’d refuse.”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “That’s what you said the last time. As I recall, it wasn’t particularly memorable. A waste of time for both of us.”

  “I’ve been seeing Dr. Christian Hunter.”

  Rowe stared at her. “Seeing him? As in going to bed with him, you mean?”

  “I suppose I deserve that. No, as a patient.”

  A patient. What was she up to now? He frowned at her. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “You said you weren’t certain anymore that Elizabeth hadn’t murdered my father. If you’re right in doubting her—and I know you are—I want to know why Christian Hunter lied for her. Then I want to nail him.”

  He found himself responding to the plea in her voice. “Look, Miss Carleton—Catherine—there’s nothing to say. I already told you that.”

  “No one else could have done it, don’t you see? Only Elizabeth.”

  Rowe turned away from her and walked to the long windows behind his desk. He looked over at Copley Square. He heard her move up behind him. “Why don’t you leave,” he said.

  “I can’t. Not until you tell me things.”

  “You are very young, Catherine. Drop it. Leave it be. Move to California. The farther away you get from your precious family, the better it would be for you.” He’d turned back to her as he spoke, and was again shaken at the pleading look on her face. He said abruptly, “Your nose is bleeding.”

  He pointed to a small box of Kleenex on his desktop. Catherine dabbed at her nose, saying nothing. He stood watching her. He’d thought of her only as a spoiled brat with a nasty mouth for so long that he had difficulty seeing her as anything else. He hated vulnerability in women, and his experience with Elizabeth, using her as he had, made him uncomfortable with himself.

  “Dammit, here.”

  He took the Kleenex from her and wiped the blood from her nose and near her upper lip.

  “Good morning, darling. What’s this?”

  Rowe looked up to see Amanda standing in the open doorway, a chagrined Doris behind her.

  “Hello, Amanda,” he said. He finished wiping Catherine’s nose and dropped the Kleenex into the wastebasket.

  Catherine turned around slowly, sniffing, to look at Amanda.

  “What brings you here so early?” Rowe asked.

  “It’s not that early, Rowe. I came to take you shopping, then to lunch. Who is this?”

  “She’s Catherine Carleton,” he said.

  “Elizabeth X’s stepdaughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “How very interesting.”

  Catherine looked from one to the other, and felt a surge of pity for Rowe Chalmers. Then she felt a deep recognition and made a small sound. No, she was thinking, I can’t be like her. Oh, God, no. But she recognized the tilt of the head, the absolute arrogance, the immediate cold assessment of another who just might be poaching on her preserve.

  “Shall we go, Rowe?” Amanda moved aside to let Catherine pass.

  “No, I’m quite busy right now, Amanda. You should have called me.”

  “Yes, you certainly do look busy, don’t you, darling?”

  “Miss Carleton is leaving. Now.”

  Catherine didn’t look at him again. She would come back. She nodded toward Amanda and left the office.

  She heard Amanda say just before the office door closed behind her, “Really, Rowe, must you screw teenyboppers right here in your office? Isn’t that secretary enough for you? Or were you wondering what the stepdaughter was like after the stepmother?”

  Catherine shivered. She didn’t hear Rowe’s answer. She supposed she should be happy that he was marrying that woman. She’d make his life miserable. She was already well on her way.

  Catherine said to Doris, “Will Mr. Chalmers be here this afternoon?”

  Doris, whose face was flushed with anger at what she’d heard Amanda say, suddenly smiled at her. “If he goes out with her now, he’ll be here late.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “Probably.”

  Yeah, Catherine thought, he probably will—he needs her money. “I’ll be back then,” she said, “but please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “You got it.” Doris watched the young woman leave. She must be as rich as Amanda Montgomery, she thought.

  Rowe left with Amanda ten minutes later and didn’t return to his office until after two in the afternoon. Doris shot him a look of sympathy, but he didn’t notice.

  Midge looked up, her breath held, as Jonathan strode into the office. “Well?”

  “Just fine, Midge,” he said. He handed her a folded envelope. “Mail this for me, special delivery.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a signed agreement to Elizabeth Carleton that I’ll sell to her if I can’t repay the loan at the stated time.”

  “You didn’t.”

  He just grinned at her. “Believe me, it doesn’t matter. It’s called distracting the lions while the Christians escape through the back door. Go ahead and read it, I know you’re dying to. And, Midge,” he said over his shoulder, “I do have a tail, thanks to the dragon lady—you know, as in private detective. Wanna know something else? This is fun.” He rubbed his hands
together as he disappeared into his office.

  He came back out not ten minutes later.

  “You still got that agreement?”

  “Yeah, but a messenger is on his way to pick it up.”

  “Cancel the messenger. I think I’ll hold on to it for a couple of days. Then I’ll go back to New York and deliver it in person. And, Midge, you got my reservations to Zurich?”

  It was fun, Jonathan thought, grinning into his rear-view mirror at the discreet Chevrolet three cars behind him—never more, never less. He pulled into his driveway, saw the Chevrolet pull over down the road, and smiled again.

  Binky Vaughan was bored, but then again, he was used to being bored. Harley hadn’t left his house for three hours. He straightened a bit when a black sedan pulled into the driveway and a man got out. He watched him enter the house.

  The man left an hour later.

  Jonathan Harley didn’t reappear. Binky’s relief appeared at precisely eleven o’clock that night. “ Nothing,” Binky said to Gus, and left. “Hell, the guy’s divorced. You’d think he’d at least go out with women or something.”

  Binky was back again at seven the following morning. After a fifteen-minute wait he saw Jonathan Harley emerge from the house and get into his car. He followed him to his office.

  Jonathan blinked awake when the flight attendant came over the loudspeaker. “Fasten your seat belts, please. We’ll be landing in Zurich in approximately fifteen minutes.”

  Catherine walked through the silent outer office and quietly opened Rowe Chalmers’ door. He didn’t hear her and for a moment she stood looking at him. His attention was on a bound sheaf of papers in front of him. He sighed once as he turned a page and continued his reading.

  “Rowe,” she said very quietly.

  He wasn’t surprised, not at all. “Hello,” he said, not looking up for a moment. “What do you want? Again?”

  “The same. Again.”

  He tossed his pen on top of the pages and sat back in his chair. “And I’ll say it again, Miss Carleton—Catherine—let it go.” He saw the stubborn set of her jaw, and added, “I can’t believe your esteemed Uncle Michael or your grandmother is pleased about your activities.”

  “No, but I really don’t care.”

  She walked past him to the windows and gazed down at the wealth of city lights below. “This view is beautiful,” she said. “I love all the Christmas decorations and lights.”

  “Yes,” he said, “yes, it is. What is it going to take to be rid of you?”

  She turned slowly. “I understand why you must hate my family, and me.”

  “Very perceptive of you.”

  Her chin went up. “However, if you hadn’t been a moron and a weakling, you wouldn’t have been ripe to do what they bribed you to do.”

  “True. I should have kicked my father out years ago. I can just picture him folding up his tent and taking off.”

  “And now you’re having to marry that awful woman to fill up the till.”

  “True again.”

  “Have you an agreement with her?”

  “That’s none of your damned business.” He rose and she saw his anger, and the lines of weariness on his face.

  “You’re working hard.”

  “Yes, there’s so much to be done, to be mended.”

  “You don’t have to marry her.” Why had she said that? Catherine stared at him, her eyes wide on his face.

  “She’s the best catch in town,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I bet she’s got as much money as you do, little girl.”

  She blurted out, “Were you in love with Elizabeth?”

  Rowe lit a cigarette, inhaled once, and ground it out.

  “You don’t smoke,” said Catherine.

  “Amanda must have left them here.”

  “Rowe, I—”

  “Please leave, Catherine. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Can I buy you a drink somewhere?”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll come on to you?”

  “I’d be shocked if you did. Perhaps you’re afraid I’ll come on to you.”

  “That would be something, wouldn’t it?” He looked at her. “Look, I don’t want to go out with you, for whatever reason.”

  She shook her head at him, swiping the back of her hand automatically against her nose.

  “It’s bleeding again,” he said. “Are you ill?”

  “No, not anymore.”

  He watched her wipe her nose.

  “Coke,” he said. “I trust you’re off it now.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Good. You’re too young to destroy yourself.”

  “You sound like you care.”

  He pointed toward the office door. “Good-bye, Catherine.”

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days, Rowe.”

  “You might as well give it up, Catherine. I mean it. Oh, shit, I can’t tell you a thing . . . All right, Thursday night, at Barney’s.”

  “Thank you, Rowe.”

  He watched her leave his office and ran his hand through his hair. Why had he done that?

  Millicent Stacy stared at the phone for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. She rose and went into Elizabeth’s office.

  “Yes? Something exciting, Milly?”

  “Maybe. That was Mr. Harley’s secretary on the phone. He wants to see you tomorrow morning. He wants to hand-deliver the agreement to you.”

  “Interesting,” Elizabeth said. She wondered why. He certainly hadn’t done anything in the meantime to change the situation. The men following him had reported that he’d gone about his business at the same time every day. Nothing at all out of the ordinary. Nothing at all. Perhaps this time he wanted to plead, to beg.

  Her eyes glittered.

  “I’ll be delighted to see Mr. Harley. I think I’ll even take him to lunch.”

  “What are you smiling about, Elizabeth?” Adrian asked, coming into her office. “You look like a judge who just sent another crook up the river.”

  Elizabeth grinned at him. “Jonathan Harley wants to see me tomorrow, agreement in hand.”

  “Signed, I presume?”

  “I hope he does it in front of me. With my pen.”

  “Do you want any reinforcements present?”

  “Nope. Why spoil my fun? Now, what do you have for me?”

  “Organization charts, with names and accompanying responsibilities, for the six companies located in the Northeast.”

  “Number of women in managerial positions?”

  Adrian shook his head. “Only twelve in all. And only one from the middle rungs.”

  “Do you have their personnel folders, including all their performance evaluations?”

  “You got ’em.” He plunked down twelve folders on her desk.

  “After I’ve gone through these, Adrian,” Elizabeth said, “we’ll set up meetings with all the management staff of the companies I select, here in New York. Then we’ll see.”

  “I assume the women will also be present?”

  “Yes, I imagine most of them will. I want to see how they perform, how they deal with their male bosses, and how the men in turn treat them.”

  “Have you ever considered setting up a castration center in Albany?”

  “No,” she said, “and don’t be sarcastic. It’s an idea—I’ll consider it. Just think of it. Our managers don’t only retire, they get their performance permanently eliminated.”

  That evening over dinner, Elizabeth, who’d reviewed all twelve folders in great detail, was telling Christian, “There are seven of them who deserve a lot more than they’ve got.”

  She’d begun talking to him at last about work. He was more pleased than he could say. He was building her trust in him.

  “Will you meet with the women individually following the meetings?”

  “I sure intend to.” She toyed a moment with her glass of white wine. “It’s odd, I know it. I was never a part of any movement, women’s or otherwise. I was always j
ust . . . alone. Me and my trusty piano.”

  “And now you’re using power in a positive way.”

  “I’m glad you understand, Christian.” She gave him a glowing smile and he was so instantly horny that he wanted to fling her on the floor of the restaurant. Instead he said, “You’ve even made me aware. I was at a board meeting with the Westward Corporation—you know, appliances and all that—and I even brought it up. The other good ole boys looked at me like I had a crack in my brain.”

  “What happened?”

  “I made a luncheon appointment with the CEO. Since I can buy and sell him, I think he’ll be receptive to my concern.”

  “I think you’re wonderful, Dr. Hunter.” And she meant it. She recognized at times, particularly at night when she was trying to get to sleep, that he’d helped her keep some balance in her life. She said suddenly, “Let’s go back to my place, and I’ll play for you. Whatever you want.”

  “Is Kogi still keeping the piano dusted?”

  “Yes, he never gives up.”

  “Nor will I, Elizabeth.”

  She went still for a moment, not wanting to examine what he’d meant by those words. He was her friend. She wanted nothing more. She couldn’t handle the other, at least not now.

  “It’s all right, Elizabeth.”

  She managed a smile. “You know me too well, Christian.”

  “I’m trying. Are you ready? I want my savage breast soothed.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Harley is here, Elizabeth,” Millicent said.

  It was all she could do not to rub her hands together. “Send the gentleman in, Milly.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Carleton. How lovely you look today.”

  “I left all my conceited bones at home this morning, Mr. Harley, but it’s a refreshing approach on your part.”

  “Ah, you see that innocuous comment as pandering?”

  “Correct. Now, what can I do for you? I understand you’ve brought me the signed agreement.”

  “Not quite, but almost. Before I do sign it, I would like to try some new negotiations with you.”

  “Forget it.”

  “I said ‘try,’ Mrs. Carleton. Surely you can’t blame me for that, can you?”